Haven’t been around the ole Blog-O-Sphere much lately, primarily because I’ve been trying to slip out from under the big black cloud that has been firmly parked above my head for about a month. Between ailing family members, crazy work schedules and inconvenient car crashes, May (and now June) have been a real bitch. And I’m sure as hell not dragging my bad Karma into my blog. It’s my happy place!
To be honest, I’m finding plenty of humor in my life these days but it’s so wildly inappropriate that putting it on paper or online would cause you to question both my good taste and my sanity (neither of which I have in abundance, even in the best of times).
And now I’m facing a weekend that may possibly kill me.
My office sponsors outdoor concerts every June to try to drum up home sales traffic in our little corner of North Atlanta. We hire regional bands (a step up from local, but not big-time national groups) and they play on our Village Green on Saturday nights. It’s a really nice free family event that brings out residents and guests alike. I kind of enjoy working at them, even though they’re ridiculously labor-intensive due to our tiny staff. We run ads on local radio stations and in newspapers, and usually around 1,500 – 2,000 people show up. Not too shabby for an office with only three full-time employees!
Anyway, our last concert for the year is this weekend and I’ve been getting the strangest phone calls. People keep calling here and asking “What time is Jimmy Buffett playing on Saturday?” Ummmm, Jimmy Buffett? In this small town? I think not people. I’ve seen the ads for the concerts, and they clearly say “Beach Music & Golden Oldies” on the 18th. That’s not Jimmy Buffett peeps.
So yesterday I was leaving the office for the day and I looked over at our literature table and saw the original flyers that we printed for the concerts back in early Spring. And right there...printed on the flyer...it says “June 18: Jimmy Buffett and Golden Oldies.” Oh. Holy. Shit. Someone printed materials that imply that Jimmy Buffett is coming here. On Saturday. It was corrected before the ads went out to the media, but everything that was distributed by hand to local businesses is misleading (at best).
Granted, any person in their right mind would know that the flyer means the band will play Jimmy Buffett-style beach music and oldies, but “right mind” and people in small-town Georgia don’t often intersect. Last week we were literally bursting at the port-o-potty seams with 1,800 concert goers. Hopefully we don’t overflow with Parrotheads on Saturday. On the bright side, if things get ugly at least Mr. Buffett won’t be here to see it.
My Karma and I need a vacation.
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